


My Heart is on my Sleeve, Wear it like a Bruise or Black-eye

by GenderqueerWriter



Category: Deception (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence - s1ep5, Child Abuse, Death Threats, Family Dynamics, Foster homes, Found Family, Gen, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-02 14:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14546292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenderqueerWriter/pseuds/GenderqueerWriter
Summary: "So what do we call you, Ben Evans, the runaway, or Mekka the elusive street artist, hmm?”When Mekka was approached by Bishop,the Bishop, he accepted.  Now he's stuck with the FBI, or more specifically, their consulting team of illusionists because he's not 18 yet, as they work on catching Bishop. Now all he's gotta do is hide his 'Tragic Backstory' and wait it out.Or in which Mekka is 17, the threat is real, and the team loves their tall son.





	1. Death Threats and House Arrest: What Happens Next May Surprise You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this work. As said in the summary, Mekka's 17, and this story explores that, and some other stuff I can't say because Spoilers :). There is a lot of stuff that is potentially triggering in this, so I will put the warnings for that chapter in the beginning notes of the chapter. If you guys need anything specific tagged let me know.  
> Tiitle is a Fall Out Boy lyric, the chapter title is by my beta reader, the amazing [Sergeant_Turtle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sergeant_Turtle/pseuds/Sergeant_Turtle)
> 
> . 
> 
> Trigger warnings: Death threats, panic attacks, implied child abuse.

Kay looked down at the file on the kid, the Bishop tagger, and silently swore. Christ, she knew he was young, her first thought at seeing his face was that he barely looked old enough to drive. She didn’t think that would be the actual truth; seventeen, a child, a literal child - Ben Evans, or Mekka, as he went by on Instagram. She glanced through, noting the fact he was a foster kid and that he’d run away from his last set of foster parents about five months ago.

  
Alvarez walked around from behind the kid, arms folded as he spoke, coming to stand at her left shoulder. “So what do we call you, Ben Evans, the runaway, or Mekka the elusive street artist, hmm?” He paused, staring at the kid, who slouched even further in a posture that screamed over-cocky teen. “Ben has been missing for five months-”  
She continues where he left off, “While Mekka has a hundred thousand followers on Instagram.” She knows her voice is steady, she’s worked too hard on her poker face for it not to be, but a mental quiver in her thoughts is evident, as she takes in his loose hand wave, designed to look relaxed and carefree. She isn’t an FBI agent for nothing, though, and she sees the tension in his long fingers, and the quick flick of his tongue over his lips before he replies.

  
“Let’s go with Mekka, I like him more.” His tone betrays nothing, speaking as if he were casually conversing with a friend, not two very dangerous adults who held his future in their hands. She would have almost believed him, if she hadn’t seen the two minute flinches at the times Alvarez had spoken the name Ben.

Alvarez sat down and laid his hands down on the table, serious written into every muscle of his face. Their uncooperative suspect and only lead looked back, poker face just as strong. “Listen, since we can't hold you overnight, we’re going to get in touch with CPS and your old foster parents.”

  
Daniels watched as pure unadulterated terror and fear shot through Mekka’s face for a split second, barely there, but evident in the way he was tensed now, as if for a fight, or like he was preparing to run. She knows Alvarez caught the look too, and they made eye contact for the briefest of seconds before flicking their eyes back to Mekka as he started talking.

  
“Wait, ok, I’ll make a deal with you. I tell you everything I know about Bishop, the tagging, anything, but I walk, and CPS doesn’t get involved. I'm going to be 18 in 9 months, a legal adult.” He’s sitting properly now, fixing them with his eyes.

  
She met his eye contact just as strongly, and thinks. He's a minor, and normally they don’t make deals with minors that leave them without parents or guardians, but then she remembers the terror in his eyes, and how this is their only lead on Bishop, a murdering, thieving graffiti artist, and she nodded once, sharply. “I’ll see what I can do.”  
Mekka slumped back in the hard chair, breaking eye contact with a soft sigh of relief, barely more than a breath. She stood, walking silently out of the room, leaving Alvarez to watch the kid, and an agent comes up to her.

  
“Agent Daniels, you’re going to want to see this.”

  
She took the photo he handed her and looked down at it. Anyone with a weaker stomach would have lost their lunch at the bloodied image. The figure in the painting was gruesomely injured, the only recognizable signs being a head of wavy hair bordering on curls and a red and black plaid jacket. It was Mekka. A horrific painted version of him, dead. “Where was this found?”

  
“It was painted on the side of a building in lower Brooklyn.”

  
Kay nodded. She needed to talk to Deakons.  
\------  
“Well, this… Mekka can't go back into the foster system anyway, Bishop is the type to carry out this threat. Normally he’d be put in Witness Protection, but he still has information we need.” Deakons looked at Kay and Cameron, who had just joined her.

  
Cameron spoke up from his silence, surprising both of them. “The Deception team can take him in for a little while, till we catch Bishop, then he can go off and do whatever teen graffiti artists do?”

  
Deakons and Kay both stared at him in shock, and he scoffed, “Come on, I’m great with kids! And Dina will love him.”  
\--------------------  
Mekka looked up as Kay and Cameron entered, and blinked at Cameron, before his attention was diverted by Kay speaking, “Listen, Mekka, CPS will not be getting involved in this -” his only tell this time was a slight relaxation of his shoulders, but they tensed up at what she spoke next. “We can’t let you go, though.”  
He stiffened, “What? Why no-,” his next words were cut off as Kay slid the photographs of the graffiti across the table. A small ‘oh’ escaped his lips, and he slowly reached out and picked up the top photo. His skin paled even further, and he looked as if he might get sick. He threw down the photo and turned to Kay, lips pressed into a firm line. “So, what does that mean for me?”

  
She motioned to Cameron at her side and he smiled charismatically, “This is Cameron Black, he works as a consultant for us, and he and his team would be willing to host you until Bishop is brought into custody.”

  
Mekka eyed Cameron, and finally shrugged. “A few weeks ago, a graffiti writer stopped me in Brooklyn and said that he was Bishop, the Bishop.”  
“How’d you know it was him?” Kay looked him steadily in the eyes, noting distantly that his eyes weren’t fully blue; in the left one there was a chunk of brown, bleeding into the iris.

  
He laughed slightly as he spoke, returning her gaze, “I watched him, he was amazing, he had the maddest skills I’ve ever seen.” Mekka shook his head now, with a flicker of disbelief as well as a long strand of brunette hair falling across his face. “He asked if I’d help him with his New York residency, so it was like, a dream come true.” His tone was wry, then, and something in Kay hurt at the way his eyes flicked down to his hands - which had been messing with the edge of his sleeve - and stilled them, shoulders tensing for a split second.

  
“And how did it work?”

Mekka pulled a photo out of his pocket with one hand and placed it on the table. Kay slid it towards herself and looked down. It was the piece that Mekka had done as Bishop, but with the date, time, and location written below. “He gave me this. Told me to show up there, do the piece and leave, so I did. Then I saw those guys busting the window out of the church.” Kay passed the piece to Alvarez as Mekka shrugged, voice taking on a quality that Kay couldn’t place. “And that’s when I realized Bishop was just using me.”

Kay nodded, “There was some larger plan.” She watched as agreement, anger, and one emotion she couldn’t place, but looked suspiciously like self-hatred, warred for place in his eyes.

“Yeah, and then the guy who paid me handed me this,” Mekka pulled out the same kind of photo, but with the Rockefeller center piece, and passed it to Kay. “But this time I was actually watching for the theft. The guy had a whole system.”

All three exchanged glances, and Mekka settled back into his chair, most of his nervous energy gone, and it was easy to see just how young he really was. “So, when do we leave?”

“Well, now I guess,” Cameron says, as Alvarez passed the kid his bag, “Do you have anything you want someone to pick up?”

He snorted, “I’m a 17 year old homeless kid,” - he held up the bag - “everything I own is right here.”

Kay made a note to herself to check the files of what Mekka had in his bag. This had nothing to do with the fact that he was wearing the same clothes as he had in his first appearance as Bishop.  
Absolutely nothing.  
\----------  
It took about half an hour to reach the team’s headquarters, and in that time Cameron hadn't stopped showing off his magic. At this point, Mekka was wondering who the actual child was; him, or Cameron? Of course, the calm couldn’t last, and it seemed like he blinked, and the two were standing on the doorstep of a tall brick building, Cam unlocking the door with a key he had pulled out of seemingly nowhere.

He was in no way prepared for the scene he saw inside the door. A woman with long dreadlocks was ordering about two men while brandishing a feather duster in a manner not unlike one would brandish a knife. Said men were cleaning as well, and Cameron marched inside, as if this were a completely normal thing to see on a Wednesday night. Mekka followed, and the woman turned towards them.

“Oh good! You two are here.” She pressed a warm mug of hot chocolate into his hands before he could blink, and smiled kindly up at him.Her expression was just as warm as the hot cocoa, and as he sipped at it, he blinked away tears. _Don’t cry, don’t show weakness, it’s only hot chocolate, idiot._

“That's Dina,” Cameron noted, “She likes you. C’mon, let me show you your room.”  
\---------  
Mekka let the door close behind him with a soft thump, crumpling to the ground with a silent sob and letting the tears race down his face unimpeded. He shook, heart pounding rapidly in his chest. A soft whimper passed his lips, and he pressed his hands to his mouth, muffling any further noise.

Somebody wanted him dead, wanted it bad enough to graffiti a threat where everyone could see. Another sob, and a new wave of tears as he gasped for air. He was seventeen, and already his life was over before it began - not that he ever had a life worth living, but he hadn’t planned on death. Mekka started shaking harder now, gasping desperately for air.

He curled into himself, wrapping his arms around his legs and pulling them into his chest, back pressed to the doorknob as his head fell on his knees, a curtain of hair providing some fragile semblance of security. Mekka took a long, shuddering breath in, before releasing it, just as slowly. The aching pressure on his chest lifted a little, and the next breath came easier. Another deep breath, another choked off sob, and finally the wave of panic washed out of him, leaving him drained and shaking. Mekka dropped his head back, leaning against the door as he wiped at the tear tracks with the edge of his sleeve.

With a muted groan, he dragged his aching body to the bed, sinking into the softness with a sigh. He curled around himself, then, and made no move to wipe away the silent tears trickling down his face.

And like most nights in his seventeen years of life, Mekka cried himself silently to sleep.


	2. Hugs are Good for the Soul. In Other News, Pancake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello wow, I'm updating less than 2 weeks after the first chapter. How proactive am I? This should probably have been longer, but who cares! Chapters being a reasonable length? Never heard of her. It's also 1:30 on a Sunday night. I have school. Yay. 
> 
> Warnings:  
> Hinted starvation, very faintly implied abuse.

Mekka sat up with a muted groan, muscles sore from the cramped position he had slept in.  He arched his back, feeling the bones of his spine pop into place. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table revealed blinking red numbers, 5:02.  Mekka slid out from under the covers, dragging his fingers through his curls to deal with the worst of the knots. With slow movements, he twisted the door open, glancing out before stepping through and closing it silently behind him.  

 

One of the men from last night was leaning over the stove - Gunter, if Mekka remembered right.  Gunter looked up from the pan, and turned to him, nodding casually. “Hey kid. Mekka, right?”

 

“Yeah, that’s me.”  His voice held steady, luckily.  He was most absolutely not afraid of Gunter, despite the fact the man could snap him in half. 

 

_ Wow, being terrified of one of the people who are literally providing you with free room and board, great job kid.   _

 

Mekka shoved the self loathing to the back of his mind, and in that time, Gunter had put whatever he was making on a plate.  He turned around, and offered him the plate. “Pancakes?”

 

He blinked at the plate, and took it.  “Thanks,” He ignored both the warmth in his chest and the hunger cramps in his stomach that was reminding him just how much he needed those pancakes, and took a seat at the counter.  Mekka took a bite, and it took all of his self control to not whimper at the heavenly taste. It might have been the fact that home cooked meals were nonexistent in his diet, but this was the best thing he’s ever tasted.  Gunter sat across from him with his own plate, and carefully cut his own pancakes into even strips. “Dina should be up in an hour, and then she’ll drag Jordan and Cameron up and out of bed.” 

 

“I’m going to guess they’re not morning people?” He surprised himself with the comment, but they already thought he was some rude teenager.  Besides, people tended not to look too far into things if they hated someone, or even reasonably disliked them. Things are easier when no one cares.  

 

Gunter snorted at the joke though, and stood to go put his finished plate in the sink.  “Got that right, those two could sleep in until noon if Dina would let them.” He looked at Mekka, who was still working on his pancakes.  “Do you want more?”

 

He shook his head, “No, I’m good.  Reenacting the Minnesota Experiment isn’t very fun anyway.”  Gunter looked mildly confused, but shook it off. 

 

“Anyway, want to watch TV or something while we wait for the others?”

 

“Sure.”

\---------

Mekka had tuned out the six a.m. Thursday show about twenty minutes ago to mentally catalogue what had happened since yesterday.  Gunter hadn’t noticed his lack of attention, and was happily watching the the TV. Or not happily, it was hard to get a read on him.  

 

A noise had him flinching, and he turned in his spot to see Dina had entered the room. The sound had come from the door closing behind her, and he hoped no one had seen the flinch.  “Hello Mekka, I’m Dina. We didn’t get chance to meet last night.” She stuck her hand out to shake, and he took it, completely unprepared for her to pull him into a hug. He stiffened, his mind blanking except for the fact that someone was hugging him, by choice. Someone had put their arms around him in a hug because they wanted to.  Dina let go and stepped back, then looked up at him, smiling kindly. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

 

“Likewise.” If there was a faint quiver in his voice, well, no one noticed, so it didn’t matter.  

 

“Now, time to wake up Cam and Jordan.  Gunter?” Dina turned to another door, glancing back at the big man.  

 

“Got it, pancake time.  Wanna help, kid?” Gunter patted him on the shoulder on the way to the kitchen.  Mekka nodded and followed him. 

 

Cameron and Jordan stumbled into the kitchen, herded by Dina.  They stole the vacant seats at the counter, and Gunter put steaming stacks of freshly baked pancakes before them.  Mekka awkwardly hovered in the background, messing with the edges of his hoodie sleeves. 

 

That was the point where Cameron decided to join this plane of existence and looked at him.  “Hey, graffiti kid, Mekka.” What is it with these people and calling him kid? “You have any plans for the day?”

 

“I’m pretty much on house arrest, so, no.” He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide his one nervous tic that was all too obvious, but immediately regretted doing that, because that just drew even more attention. “Why?”

 

Cam grinned, “Well, I’m going to teach you,” with a flourish of his hand, a stereotypical magician’s wand appeared, “magic!”  He swept his arms wide, posture bold and bright, belonging more to the stage than at a kitchen counter next to a literal zombie.  Of course, the drama was ruined when said zombie face-planted into his pancakes. “Goddamnit, Jordan, wake up.” He paused. “Oh shit, there’s a kid here.”  

 

Dina’s eyebrow rose steadily higher at both curses, and the kid comment, and everyone, except Jordan who was still face down in his pancakes.  Mekka shifted uncomfortably at the attention. “Really, your friend just passed out into his pancakes, and you’re worried about cursing in front of a teenager.”

 

“He has a point,” Dina remarked, her perfectly arched eyebrow still high on her forehead.  “Besides, Kay needs us to figure out the next move against Bishop.” At the name, a flicker of fear ran across Mekka’s face, but was gone before it could be noticed.  

 

“Awww, but - but magic!” Cameron pouted up at Dina, who arched her eyebrow even further up.  Mekka was worried that if she kept doing that, it would fly off her forehead. Cameron sighed and dropped his arms, “Fine, but only because of Bishop.  Find out his next move so that we can be two steps ahead of him.”

 

A phone buzzed, then, which Cameron pulled from his pocket. “Kay said to head down, and to bring the kid.” 

 

Mekka hid a grimace. Police stations were never fun, and the FBI headquarters resembled them way too much for his comfort.  The price of having dealt with murderous criminals. 

 

_ Let’s just get this over with.  The sooner they catch him, the sooner I’m gone.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Minnesota Experiment Mekka references is the Minnesota Starvation Experiment in 1944-1945. Some of what it studied was refeeding syndrome, which happens when someone eats too much after long periods with little to no caloric intake.


End file.
